


haggar's punishment

by glasswren



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Emotional Hurt, Eye Gouging, Gen, Gladiators, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mutilation, Non-Sexual Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 17:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasswren/pseuds/glasswren
Summary: shiro slips up in the arena, and refuses to murder another. haggar punishes him for letting down the crowds.





	haggar's punishment

Blood. Blood. Blood. It spattered his face, dripped from his fingers, both his and his opponent's. His broad, trembling shoulders swayed as he stared down the figure struggled in the dust, eyeless. Their eyes had been gouged out. He, had gouged their eyes out. It looked as though it was begging for mercy, pleading, on its knees. The creature's hands were clasped together, its back bent unnaturally downward.

 

Shiro simply stared, his pupils dilated. The blood dribbling down his chin began to roll down his neck, staining the already filthy suiting. The adrenaline that had him going was dulling down, leaving him a blank minded shell of himself. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, bringing it up as the crowds began to roar. Howling, screaming for him to finish them off. Shiro brought it up farther, attempting to will himself to bring it down, sever its head, put it out of it's misery. The dry horror that crept under his skin seemed to hold him back, his body's limits wearing him down. His mind's limits. He couldn't. He couldn't. Not this time.

 

He dropped his blade.

 

The arena went dead silent.

 

Screams.

 

Shrieks of anger and frustration bellowed from the audience, pouring past his ringing ears. 

 

_"Finish them!"_

_"Slit its throat!"_

_"What is it doing?"_

 

Guards were unleashed into the arena, their paced running pounding the blood strained sandy ground. Rough, metallic arms dragged and jerked him back, bringing Shiro back to reality. He let out a yell of dismay, kicking, fighting, throwing his fists the best he could, only to have their pinching grip intensify. The black haired man screamed out as they approached those sickeningly familiar sliding doors, still kicking up dust and sand in a struggle. Though despite his efforts, the sentries marched on. 

 

"No, no no no! Let me go! Don't- no!" He shouted as the metal doors sealed shut behind them, twisting and turning. His head whipped around to try and make out where they were bringing him, but everything looked the same. All the corridors held the same insignia, same pattern, same lights, same everything. He was dizzy, but he could still give a fight. He'd had enough torture. Shiro slammed his head into one of the sentry's accessable wiring, causing the metal armour to twitch and shudder, giving him a window to pull away. He kicked back the other, using his hands on the floor to scramble away as he attempted to gain balance. He could hear them gaining, his heartbeat thudding in his throat. Then it went pitch black.

 

-

 

_Bang._

 

_Clack_

 

_Clink, clink, clink_

 

Shiro stirred himself from his foggy state, beginning to turn sorely, before feeling a restraint on his biceps. His blurry, spotted vision slowly faded in and out, catching sight of one, two- three, no, eight more restraints holding him against something. Something cold, something dry. He looked up, searching for the source of the chilling whispers. A group of robed figures, all wearing masks that resembled a bird's skull quietly entered the room, a murmur hovering around them. His back arched sharply as they parted to surround him, revealing another robed woman, her pale, split hair falling out of the hood. Haggar. He knew her by name, the others trembled at just her mention. He hadn't known why, exactly, other than the fact that her idea of discipline was horrific. 

 

"Takashi Shirogane, our champion, do you know why you're here?" She walked over to his side, holding up his chin to look at her aging face. Her spidery fingertips dug into his skin, her yellow stained optics eminently slicing through his. Her dry, scentless breath puffed against his face, her cracked lips slightly parted in curiosity. She tilted her head, the hood slipping for only a moment before she stepped away to sharply tug it back over her eyes. She paused, facing him for a solid few seconds before turning to the masked figures, her voice ringing out.

 

"Teach him a lesson, he'll learn his place." She stated calmly, before turning slowly, and walking towards the doors. She set a hand before it, let one final glance at the battered prisoner slide, before exiting promptly, he metallic barriers cutting her from sight. The collective whispers and low whistles carried around the remaining druids, which turned to him curtly, approaching him without warning.

 

Shiro followed the tallest one with his gaze the best he could, it's energy different from the others. Out of all things, he could feel that. It carried a faintly glowing blade, florescent purple lining the edges. He could only watch as they circled him, the others stepping back for a moment, in almost a respective, orderly manner as the druid examined his current wounds. It traced his cuts with an abnormally long finger, claws tugging at the lips of the slices. He winced out of instinct as it came to rest over the bridge of his nose, sucking in a pained breath as it began to open the old, slowly healing slit. The pointed nail seemed to burrow into his wound, sending jolts of pain over his face and down. Crimson began to drip down, settling into the bow of his lips and coating the sides of his tongue as the old scar was agonisingly widened, a stinging sensation running down to his neck.

 

"You know." Shiro squeezed his eyes shut at the startling voice, which couldn't be described in human tongue. It seemed to have whispering layers, an undescribable smooth rasp that hung in the air well past its introduction, hollow and shaking. "I do like you, champion. However, I must take orders. You are aware of this, yes?" It rasped, undeterred by his horrified, twisted up expression. It just kept deepening the wound, slicing through layers. 

 

Then, it abruptly stopped. Its nails jerked away, which brought Shiro to let out a throaty yell. He gagged, coughing and spitting out the copper taste that still remained in his mouth. He clenched his jaw before finally opening his pinned eyes, finding the figure now standing to his side, clicking its bloodied nails against the lit blade. It looked to ponder, leaving him in utter, unbridled fear for his life as the others slowly began to approach, but stunted with a snap. The tallest had lifted a hand, floating closer towards Shiro once again.

 

He could only watch as the druid slowly began to roll the blade around his upper arm, making a slicing motion in the air.

 

"No- no, no- don't-" Shiro stammered, fear overtaking any form of pride. Primal fear overwrote any other emotional, his muscles contracting as he shivered. His face wore no pain, no anger, nothing but utter, raw terror. It ran deep, cooling his boiling blood down to ice. He had gone stiff, his only focus on the dagger.

 

Only a chuckle.

 

He heard only a chuckle, before the florescence was deep in his arm, striking the bone. He couldn't put the pure agony he felt into any sort of common sense, letting out an animalistic cry as he fell back, the searing pain jolting and convulsing through his entire body, immobilising him. He threw his head back, every moment of a fight forcing more blood spatter against his face, the hot liquid speckling his skin like freckles. 

 

Then.

 

Then he couldn't feel anything beyond the shoulder. 

 

He looked down.

 

God, he wished he hadn't.

 

There, Shiro stared in frenzied disbelief at the severed limb, forgetting entirely about the pain that still wracked his body. He watched silently as the druid slowly removed the restraint from the limp, motionless wrist, removing the arm from the steel-like table, and walk off with it, standing before the door as they began to wipe away the gore almost as though it was a valuable piece of artwork. It lifted its bloodied hand once again, except this time, it rotated it in signal, before entering a code and disappearing beyond the seal of those fucking doors.

 

The last thing he saw, before fading into unconsciousness, was the slow motioned approach of the other druids, and the blood that oozed down the cold table from what was left of his arm.


End file.
